Ghuvek's eyes grew hard. "There are, however, older and cruder ways. What do you say to torture, eh, Earthman?"
"I'm not much in favor of it," said Marten. "I can't say I care for the idea at all."
"Good," Ghuvek said. "Yknor, prepare the torture!"
No human being likes physical torture. The idea of having hot needles slid under one's fingernails, of having one's toenails removed by pincers, of being scourged with nerve-whips—none of these were pleasant thoughts.
Not pleasant, perhaps, but not unbearable, so far as Marten was concerned. It hurt; of course it hurt. But not once during the terrible ordeal did Marten either pass out or give any sign that the torture was more than he could bear.
"What's the matter, Ghuvek? Slowing down?"
At each taunt, the alien overlord grew uglier and angrier. And as the horror went on, Ghuvek seemed to come more and more frantic. None of the most delicate subtle torture devised—and the Flesso were experts at devising torture—seemed to have any effect on the Earthman. He simply sat there, grimly, stoically.
"You're boring me, Ghuvek," Marten remarked as an acid-tipped auger nibbled flesh from his chest. "But I'm willing to be cooperative. You'll notice I'm just sitting here patiently while you play with me."
"Very well!" Ghuvek stormed. "If that's your attitude, we'll see what can be done! Perhaps you Earthmen have no pain nerves—but at the sight of your very bodies being destroyed—"
"I think I've had about enough of this," Marten said. Flexing his muscles, he yanked one hand free of the torture-chair and ripped the auger from his chest.